There are a lot of different theories as to why God created the animals with whom we share this earth, but I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out the real reason. Because He knew how stupid and stubborn humans would be.

Okay, wait. Just let me explain. We don’t give animals enough credit for how much they know and understand - especially in regards to the spiritual realm. After all, God created them, too. I think He gave them an extra dose of heavenly wisdom so that maybe, hopefully, cross your fingers, we could learn something from them. But we have to be willing to watch and listen.

The other day I had a wedding to attend, and as a result I ended up leaving the golden retriever I am currently caring for at home for a lot longer than I intended. As the minutes ticked by and the hours passed, the guiltier I felt. She’s probably so lonely. Is she hungry? Did she think I left forever? I think I forgot to leave a light on for her. She is probably super mad at me.

I returned home with my chest heavy with guilt. But when I opened the door, I was greeted by the happiest, bounciest dog in the world, her whole body wagging with her tail, jumping up to give me kisses. It was as if she was just meeting me for the first time. I was instantly relieved by her massive display of affection. And then the word GRACE came flooding into my mind, and as I looked into those big brown eyes I swear I saw the face of God. He spoke to me and said, “I AM like this. This is how I love you.”

I tend to forget the vastness of God’s grace and love for me. I tend to put limits on it, which only produces that sense of guilt and failure. I want to return Home, but I am afraid of what I will find. The truth is, it doesn’t matter what we’ve done, and it doesn’t matter how long we’ve been gone. God will stay Home and wait for each and every one of us. And when we finally get there, He will greet us with a wagging tail and a sloppy wet kiss.

So the next time you leave your dog alone for a long time, and they greet you with a ferocious love – know that our God is doing the same thing.

The church sings David Crowder's hymn "Come As You Are” together in worship and I am suddenly overcome with the profound weight of grace in this statement. For me, it’s easy to quickly pawn off these sentiments onto other people: Come as you are, it doesn't matter where you're at, you won't be judged here. I accept you, you are forgiven, you are loved. But this time, as I learn to live amongst the push and pull of both worldly and self-induced double standards, I let this sense of acceptance wash over my own guilt, my own confusion, hurt, pride, fear, and shortcomings.

Today, I am the one in desperate need of this reminder.

Today, the voices of Fear and Disappointment take my hand and pull me to the left, saying, "Kaitlyn, come this way. It’s safe over here. Your dreams will never come to fruition. You will never be able to make them happen. You have failed. It’s not in you.”

I look to the right as my other hand is pulled in the opposite direction, the voices of Pain and Confusion saying, "Yes, Kaitlyn, come this way. You deserved all that has unfolded. Everything you had is now gone — the people, the opportunities, the experiences. You care so much, but for what? Put your guard back up and you won’t get hurt again.”

I wrestle as my arms are pulled in both directions. I am bound and unmoving. It can be easy to give in and justify the voices on both sides of this internal argument; to allow them to become a truth about me. Sometimes they mean well. My arms get tired. I long so badly to be free of them. If I'm feeling strong, I might try to stay and fight them off for a while. Yet the more I try to fight them off, the more I have to struggle.

But what would happen if I stopped paying attention to these adversaries? That's all they want — attention. If only I would stop struggling, stop giving life to the voices that pull me in multiple directions.

I squint my eyes as they catch something straight ahead in the distance. It has been there the whole time, but I have been too distracted to notice. This voice is not a forceful thing; it quietly and patiently beckons us. It’s softer, sweeter. It weeps as it watches the inner struggle against the deceptions that seek to entwine us.

Why do I so quickly forget that the real Voice, the real Truth, is straight ahead of me? As I center my gaze upon it, it gently says, "Come as you are, it doesn't matter where you're at, you won't be judged here. I accept you, you are forgiven, you are loved."

The grip on my wrists loosen.

Even if our arms are being pulled to the right and to the left, may we continue to walk forward with our eyes, ears, and hearts fixed straight ahead, like the gaze of a Son who looked to his Father as his arms were pulled to the right and to the left, hands nailed down to a tree, three days away from liberation.

Not long ago I came home from my first half of a split shift, tired from the little sleep my job provides, knowing that I had to be back in 4 hours. Usually I try not to sleep in between shifts, but on this day in particular that is all I wanted to do. I needed rest. Solace. Peace.

I climbed into my small, puffy bed and pulled the covers up over me. This is where I talk to Jesus. I used to feel guilty that I didn’t talk to Him on my knees, hands nicely folded and eyes closed. I felt guilty for being so comfortable. But let’s be real – in my bed, briefly hidden from the world by piles of blankets and the quiet of the night – this is where the work gets done. This is where God meets me. And on the days when I most need comfort He comes in the form of a giant, majestic, beautiful bird.

I closed my eyes and the bird met me. I was walking through a hot desert, thirsty and tired. I looked up to see the bird in the air, preparing to land. He lands beside me and fluffs his feathers. Then he gently lifts one wing and invites me to stand in the shade beneath it. I find my shelter there, and he scoops me up. His feathers are soft and the shade is cool. I am protected from the hot, arid openness that surrounds us. I can rest there.

He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

— Psalm 91:4

As I was imagining this that day, an ugly, sinister voice tried to disturb my rest. It was the voice of myself. It said, “Don’t be ridiculous Kaitlyn, God’ s not a giant bird.” Then, almost immediately, another voice spoke and drowned me out. “I CAN BE ALL THINGS.”

All too often I put God in a box. I don't like this. All too often I let other peoples’ view of God influence mine. I compare my personal relationship with God to the appearance of others. I figure it’s like trying on someone else’s pair of shoes. While an old worn-in pair of shoes might be the most comfortable things in the world to someone else, I can try them on and they could be too big or too small. I can try to squeeze into them until it hurts, or I could trip and shuffle and stumble around trying to keep them on my heels.

They are not my pair of shoes.

My relationship with God is not her relationship with God. It’s not that old man’s relationship with God. It’s not that little girl’s relationship with God.

God is always the same. But he relates he relates to all of us differently.

This is our lot; at a simple request, we cry for complexity. In our insecurities we are insatiable. "Not just my feet, but my hands and head as well" our ego demands. We demand from our anxiety and are anxious through our fear.

'If only little is asked, what does it say of who cannot accomplish even this?'

What is it we fear? What is it we have impregnated with apprehension? Failure? Rejection? Exclusion? Submission? I can only speak of what I know, but each of us can provide our own cause. The existential anguish then is that only so little is asked, and yet all our prayers beg clarity and direction.

Why then do I plead with God to show me God's will? What does it mean to ask for God's will in my life? Am I not praying for a curated will? That I am the curator? Are we not asking for what has already been given?

If we knock and the door is opened, what more must be done? And so we knock, and the door is opened. The invitation is our lot, a simple request: "love one another". At this utterance many flee, few enter, but we gracefully shift our knocking from the door to the frame, waiting for something greater, careful not to cross the threshold.

It is standing at the entrance, that we serve ourselves. It is here that we insist we are to be served, not to be servants. But to love one another necessitates an outward orientation. It looks past egocentric desires. If we answer the call to love, a new fulfillment is found. One that is unnatural and strangely familiar. The invitation is simple, while entering demands vulnerability and submission. This is why we knock in the face of our welcome.

We forget that entry gratifies our yearning for complexity and purpose. Love unfolds. Participating in God's will permits God's participation in our lives. It isn't until we acknowledge the way that we can begin to follow.

BY ANTHONY GALATI

Anthony holds a B.A. in English and Philosophy. He enjoys reading, music, and spending time with friends. Anthony legitimately thinks The Happening is a worthwhile movie. He is in constant conflict with himself.

The most difficult thing about giving all to God is risking or compromising your deep and personal passions, desires, and wildest dreams. We fear giving all to God because we feel if we do, our lives will be hard, boring, not what we planned, this isn't how it was supposed to go...

By giving all to God, we no longer have control. Scary. We feel insecure.

When we first choose to follow Christ, "giving all to God" usually means giving up certain worldly pleasures that we love or make us "feel good" for a fleeting moment. It usually doesn't take long to discover that those pleasures are warped or bad for us. When we give up these things, we realize how life is even sweeter without them, and our maturity and trust in Christ begin to grow. We know that those things must go.

Christ says: ‘Give me All. I don’t want so much of your time and so much of your money and so much of your work. I want You. I have not come to torment your natural self, but to kill it. No half-measures are any good. I don’t want to cut a branch here and a branch there. I want to have the whole tree down. Hand over the whole natural self, all the desires which you think innocent as well as the ones you think wicked - the whole outfit. I will give you a new self instead. In fact, I will give You Myself; my own will shall become Yours.

— C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

As we mature in our faith, we will then realize that simply giving up our sins and worldly desires is not enough. God wants more. He now wants even the things that are of Him. He wants to take some of our passions and kill them, because they are not for us. He wants to take some of our dreams and kindle them into a blazing fire, with no life circumstance in the world able to put it out and thwart the way.

THIS is for you. THIS is why I created you.

He has carved out the path to these dreams and the way is easy. The burden is light. If only we would trust that He is Good.

I want only what is best for you, child. I love you.

What has following Me cost you?

It has cost me following the ways of the world in exchange for better, more adventurous ways. It has cost my own plans for my future, in exchange for plans far better than my own imaginative mind could have imagined. It has cost periods of confusion and doubt, in exchange for deeper understanding, greater trust, and a stronger relationship with God. It has cost dark and windy nights out on the stormy sea to long for Jesus and walk on the water. It has cost me some friends and relationships, in exchange for making me a family member in the Kingdom of God. It has cost letting go of material things in exchange for never-ending provision that consistently boggles my mind.

I once again find myself at a Wall that stands before me. As I saw it approaching on the horizon, my senses heightened, but I am not afraid. Now it is close enough to touch. It feels familiar. I have been to a Wall like this before. I know that somewhere along it, there is a door. So I put my hand on the Wall, choose a direction, and start walking. I feel the grooves of the stones under my fingertips as I calmly walk along it, knowing that it won't be long until I find the doorknob.

I have been to a Wall like this before.

In the past, its obstructive presence was not so welcoming. What is this giant obstacle? Where did it come from? I was doing just fine on the smooth, pretty path I was on. I have tried to climb over the Wall. The task only wore me out. The Wall once brought panic, as I searched it frantically, looking for something to grasp, looking for any way past it, pounding at it in frustration. I have been tempted to turn around and go back to where I came from. But I came from nothing good. I have sat down and given up at this Wall. I buried myself in its shadows as I mourned the loss of all that once lay before me.

Eventually, frustration turns into weary desperation, and the only thing you can do is be still. You've been emptied. Eventually, you have no choice but to get up, if you want to survive. You hold on to the Wall as you decide to surrender to your situation. Stay calm as you muster up your strength, and take courage as you walk along its undiscovered length. The journey will transform you.

This blog is the result of many failed attempts to actually start one. It took years for the vision of this blog to finally reach a tangible shape. It took experiences that needed to happen. It took relationships that needed to form. I needed to learn how to move out of isolation and embrace community. Mostly, it took letting go of control - just letting life happen as I live among others who are asking the same questions, longing for the same things, and seeing how beautiful that is. Three years ago, amidst the scribbles of my own ideas, I wrote that I envisioned a positive, yet transparent community. That vision remains the same.

This blog is so much more than a place to share my own spiritual journey with others. It's a place where I can invite others to come share with me. I want to invite others, through a curative process, to be a part of the conversation and contribute thoughts, reflections, revelations, and wonders. How is God moving in you? What is God doing? What's burdening you? We don't have to wonder in isolation. We shouldn't. We can sojourn together. And learn from each other along the way. So come share. Come declare praise. Come ask questions. Come find comfort.

We observe a broken world. We know all too well the imperfect weight of our own humanity. Yet we believe in the transforming power of Love. We have experienced the beauty of what Christ has done. We see the beauty of a life rooted in Him. And if we haven't yet, I believe that longing is rooted deep within each one of us. I find so much beauty in our broken humanity. It is what unites the world. We are all human. Yet we are all created in the image of God. And we all long for what we were created for.

I envision this blog being a beautiful dialogue around one overarching question:What does it mean to be human, in light of the Kingdom of God?

So for now I will leave it there.

I am excited to see how this project takes shape as I continue to grow and reflect, as I have conversations, and as I continue to learn from people both in my local community and around the world.